The Point of No Return
by Crimson Velvet Tears
Summary: Will and Hannibal's battle with the Red Dragon. Will's realization that he can't live with Hannibal, and he certainly can't live without him. Decisions are made, and the die of fate is cast. SPOILERS, Season 3 episode 13.


Welcome to my first Hannigram fan fiction. I am an **avid** fan of this show. I've been a huge Hannibal Lector fan since I was a child and saw Silence of the Lambs. When I found out they were making a television series by dark heart skipped a beat. Please, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Hannibal is not mine. Sadly.

Will could feel the life ebbing from him. It lent an edge to his mind, a wash of crimson staining his psyche. He and Hannibal circled Dollarhyde like wounded wolves. Prowling at the edges of his reach, weapons in hand, their own blood already staining their hands. Will lashed out abruptly, his knife slicing through flesh, the Dragon's blood splashing hot across his hand. A lance of primal joy pierced through him when Hannibal stepped forwards, predatory grace in his every movement. Dollarhyde bellowed as Hannibal's hatchet opened up another wound, more blood pouring from the murderer's enraged form. Will met Hannibal's gaze, felt their connection snap into place. He knew what Hannibal would do next, they **both** knew. They moved in tandem, two halves of one murderous whole. Hannibal launched himself onto the Dragon's back, holding his lethal arms back as Will came in low, blade glinting in the moonlight. Will's knife slid easily through Dollarhyde's tender abdomen, cutting through his flesh and guts like butter. He watched Hannibal swallow the chunk of flesh he'd torn from the Dragon's throat, watched the fierce satisfaction flicker across his face as Will fell to his knees. He scrambled out of the way as Dollarhyde fell to the ground, his dying breaths a guttural staccato howl. The blood spread in a widening pool, reaching thick obsidian fingers out towards him.

"It really does look black in the moonlight."

Will glanced up at Hannibal, blue eyes met brown, and he felt a wave of euphoria. He reached out towards him, bloody fingers grasping Hannibal's hand in near desperation. The Chesapeake Ripper pulled him to his feet, his lower face and chest covered in blood. Hannibal smiled tenderly at him, one strong arm wrapping around his back to hold him up. Will shook in his arms, blood loss and adrenaline taking their course. Hannibal pulled him closer, their eyes locking.

"This is all I ever wanted for you, Will… For both of us."

Will couldn't quite describe the feeling welling to life in him as his eyes fell to Hannibal's bloodied mouth. His breath was harsh in his ears, he could feel himself fading. This was the point of no return. He could feel it, a reorganization of thoughts and principles, and a realization of what Hannibal was to him. He glanced sideways at the corpse of Francis Dollarhyde, saw the blood spreading like wings around him.

"It's beautiful," He whispered, smiling.

He couldn't hold himself up any more, he leaned forwards, burying his face in Hannibal's shoulder. He could **feel** Hannibal's triumph, his blood matted hair brushing against his cheek as the cannibal pulled him closer. A sound caught his attention: sirens blared in the distance. Jack. Will clutched Hannibal tighter to him, a sense of dread suffusing his limbs. Jack Crawford would take Hannibal away from him. And, as Hannibal had alluded in Florence, he wasn't sure he could survive the separation. Looping his arms around the taller man's neck he took one step to the left and made the only decision he felt was reasonable. If he couldn't live without Hannibal, than he would die with him. The cold sea air rushed past them, and all Will could do was wrap himself around Hannibal and wait for the inevitable.

Hitting the ocean surface was like hitting an icy wall, a wall that – after a moment – reached out and pulled you closer. He had lost Hannibal upon impact, his nerveless hands slipping from his sweater as he drifted deeper into the obsidian depths.

He couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything other than the rush of his own blood flowing through his body, his own heartbeat thrumming rapidly in his ears. Regret spun a silky web in his mind, images of the future he could have had if only he had left with Hannibal and Abigail three years ago. But it didn't matter now. Now all that mattered was the cold darkness of oblivion that was calling his name. He closed his eyes, emptied his lungs of air, and drifted away from reality.


End file.
